Chapter 15

When she got there he was ready and they set off immediately.

"You pick the route today," he said.

She ran them downtown and into the same alley they were attacked in. He looked over at her and said,"What's up?"

"I just wanted to see if it looked the same," she said.

It did, and within seconds they were past the place that had resulted in both of them seeing more of the inside of a police station than they had wanted.

She turned left on Moberly Avenue and headed for the industrial park.

"I have things to tell you," she said.

"And you're just now getting around to it?" They'd been running for half an hour.

"Actually, I'm probably not supposed to tell you," she said. "Can you keep a secret?"

"If you'll go on a date with me I'll keep a secret even under torture," he said.

Her fist shot out and impacted his upper arm, making him stagger sideways.

"Sorry," she said. "I thought you were farther away than you were."

"Ow," he complained, reaching to rub the affected area. "If we were a couple that would be domestic abuse."

"You want to run over the see Detective Juhler and make a complaint?" she asked.

"No, but now you have to go on a date with me as recompense."

He dodged to the right and her fist was short by six inches.

"Ha!" he gloated. "I have your number, sister."

They dashed across the street to beat oncoming traffic.

"So what's your big secret?"

"We were going to paint yesterday morning. Cindy and her husband were helping me. But before we could get started, two FBI agents came to get me and take me away."

His eyes bulged and his step faltered. He had to reacquire it to keep up with her.

"What for?!"

"They took me to Martin to start their investigation into some discrepancies I found in some contract files."

"You're kidding."

"Nope."

"The Federal Bureau of Investigation is interested in contract files? What are they, government contracts?"

"No, but the discrepancies, as of last night, now total over twenty million dollars."

"Wow!"

"And they're just getting started."

"So that's why you were AWOL for running yesterday."

"Yes."

"They didn't, like, arrest you, did they?"

"No, it wasn't that kind of thing. They wanted me to teach them how to find what I found. They've opened a case and are going to keep investigating. But you can't tell anybody because they want to get all the evidence before anybody finds out they're here."

"Do you have any idea how interesting a woman you are?" he asked. "I mean first you get run down by a car. Then there are hit men after you. And now you're a junior G Man."

"Not by choice," she said.

"Be that as it may, it sure is exciting to be around you. And that doesn't even take into account how exciting it is to be around you anyway."

She ran on in silence for a block.

"I told you a secret. Can I ask you to tell me one of yours?"

"Me? I don't have any secrets. I'm just a boring history teacher who coaches football on the side."

She wasn't sure she wanted to ask him. What if he had said what he said because he thought he was talking to his mother, or sister or whatever? What if it was an automatic response because his mind was muddled with sleep?

If he backtracked ... said he didn't mean it ... she knew something would die inside her. But if she didn't ask him about it, she'd never know. Or at least she'd have to wait to see if he said it again. And if it was real ... if that was how he really felt ... she needed to know that too, because that would strongly affect future decisions. Imminent future decisions.

"Do you remember me calling you last night?"

"Yeah. It was late. I'd already gone to bed."

"Do you remember the conversation?"

"I think so. You said you'd explain things today. That's what you just did, right?"

"Yes."

She pounded out another fifty feet before speaking again.

"Do you remember what you said to me?"

"I don't remember saying much at all," he said. "It seemed like a short call."

The dread rose clear into her throat.

"When we said goodbye ... you said you loved me."

Another fifty feet vanished under their stride.

"I did?"

"Yes."

"Shit," he said, under his breath.

That thing inside of her curled up and started to expire.

"I'm sorry," he said, staring straight ahead.

The dying thing inside her gasped, as if struck by a fist.

"So you didn't mean it," she said, her voice breaking.

"What? No! I just didn't want to say it until later. I mean I didn't think you were ready for something like that. I didn't want to jump the gun and scare you away."

The dying thing took a deep breath of clean, fresh air and uncurled.

"So you did mean it?"

"Can we stop?" he asked.

"No," she said.

"I feel like I need to be able to look at your face while we finish this conversation."

"Just tell me how you feel," she said.

"What if it's not what you want to hear?"

She lashed out and her fist hit his shoulder again, staggering him again.

"You dope!" she snorted. "If I didn't want to hear it I'd have already told you never to say it again!"

"Really?" He rubbed his arm again, but didn't complain.

"Aren't I pretty plain-spoken?" she asked.

"I wouldn't put it quite that way," he said. "You send some very mixed signals sometimes."

"Such as?"

"Such as kissing me and then telling me you won't go on a date with me. Such as punching me for asking you out and then punching me because I'm reluctant to tell you I love you."

"Oh," she said. "But I explained why I don't want to start dating right now."

"You did, and I understood that. I even respect you for it. And you already had a lot on your plate, and that was before the FBI hauled you off like that. But the main reason I didn't want to say that was because, when you get right down to it, we don't really know each other all that well, and I was afraid you'd think it was precipitous. That's usually the kind of thing you say after you've dated a while. Hence my passion to get you to go out with me ... so I could say it."

"But you said it yourself. We hardly know each other. How can you love me?"

"I don't know. I just do. I think I started falling in love with you that first day, the day we met. I just felt like you were the woman of my dreams. Imagine my consternation when I found out you were married."

They ran on. When she didn't say anything, he filled the silence.

"And then there was that other thing."

"What?"

"When you say that to someone and they don't feel the same way, it destroys the relationship. I couldn't chance that, so I kept my mouth shut. Or I thought I did. Thought I was going to. Crap! I can't even talk!"

She reached to touch gently the spot she had punched twice.

"It's okay," she said.

He looked over at her.

"Okay, as in you understand how guys can fall in puppy love and it will pass? Or okay as in you don't mind that I said it."

"I don't mind that you said it."

The next period of silence lasted half a mile. Three full minutes of uncomfortable non-communication. When Claire finally said something, it wasn't even close to what he expected.

"I think I'm damaged goods," she said.

He didn't know how to interpret her comment. She could be referring to the accident, and her loss of memory. Or she could be using the more common meaning of the phrase, saying she had psychological problems.

Rather than guess wrong, he just said,"I don't."

She suddenly swerved left, which would take them by the water purification plant. He swung wide, because he wasn't expecting it.

"I don't know if I can explain it," she said. "When I woke up, only one person treated me like she really cared. That was Cindy. And at the time, I thought she was a brainless bimbo. I met my husband, who was obviously a jerk who didn't care. And then one night, I was using a sex toy that I had bought before the accident and didn't even remember owning, and when I had an orgasm ... your face popped into my head. I didn't know who you were. All I knew was that I felt this attraction to you. Since then, in talking with Cindy, it turns out that, according to her, I bought that dildo because I already knew my husband didn't love me any more and wasn't paying any positive attention to me. And the first time I used it, which was the day before I got hit by that car, while I used it I thought of you. I was so embarrassed about it the next day that when I admitted it to Cindy I panicked and ran away. I hit a light pole and then lurched in front of the car that hit me."

She looked over at him to see how he was reacting. She saw concern, and almost sobbed.

"I couldn't remember you after the accident. I didn't even know we'd run together that one time. But you had made such a strong impression on me that even with the amnesia, when I had an orgasm, I remembered your face. Your face was one of the first things I remembered about my past!"

He reached to put his hand on top of her shoulder. He left it there for five or six strides, and squeezed before taking it away and letting her run.

"And since then ... I don't even know how to put into words how you've affected me."

Her anxiety caused her to lengthen her stride unconsciously. He noticed, but simply matched her.

"I obviously chose poorly when I married John. I don't think I'm stupid, but it was a stupid choice. And of course I can't remember why I did it. But that relationship failed, and logic alone dictates that I had some role in that failure. I can't remember loving him. I can't remember loving anyone, and I can't remember anyone but Cindy loving me. I'm not even sure I know what love feels like. I feel things for you. Boy, howdy do I feel things. The fantasies I've had while I ... while I'm alone. Well, trust me, you'd love them. But is that love? Or is it just lust? According to Cindy I haven't had love or sex for a long time and that could mean I'm just horny. I don't know what to think. That's why I feel like I'm damaged goods."

She realized she was running too fast and slowed down. He saw her fall behind and matched her pace again.

"And now I've just admitted to a man that I use sex toys and fantasize about him while I do it. I'm so embarrassed I want to throw up."

He finally said something. "Go ahead."

"I can't. I haven't had anything to eat since breakfast."

"Let me think a minute," he said.

They had covered a mile before he spoke again.

"Look. I'm not a psychiatrist. I don't even know that much about relationships. I've had girlfriends, but we never seemed to want the same things, and always went our separate ways. But it seems to me you're trying to do a book report on a book you've only read every other chapter of. Sure, you've got things to worry about. But one of them isn't me. The fact that I love you, to me is just something that has seeped into my bones. I don't analyze it, I just feel it. But that doesn't mean you owe me anything. I want you to love me, of course. That's what's probably behind the way I pester you. But I know that might not happen. I meant it when I said that if all we ever are is running partners then I can live with that. When I was in my agonizing teens, my mother told me that when you love someone, you care more about how happy they are than how happy you are. And I guess that sank in. All I want is for you to be as happy as you can be. And if that means you need time to figure things out, then that's okay."

"I think I do love you," said Claire. "The problem is that I don't know if it's real, or what to do about that."

"Well," said Chad. "That's a start."

"No," she said, reaching to grab his arm. "This is a start."

She jerked him to a stumbling stop. Their legs contracted and complained at the sudden inaction, after so many miles of smooth work. Her arms went around his neck and she pressed her panting lips to his. They swayed like two drunken sailors holding each other up, as air gusted into each other's mouths while they panted. She writhed against him, trying to get as much surface area of her body in contact with his as possible. It wasn't so much a kiss as it was two people rubbing their open mouths against the other's face.

Their breathing slowed, little by little, and their ardent attempt at osculation calmed, until it did become a kiss. The passion exchanged in that kiss was electric. His hands slid from her back downward to cup her spandex-clad buttocks. She moaned and strained against him, feeling that he was erect.

They had to breathe, but neither wanted it to stop yet, so the long kiss morphed into a dozen nipping, sucking shorter kisses as they gasped for air.

Then, suddenly, it was over and they parted. Neither said anything to stop it, but both felt the need to step back. They stood, still panting, staring at each other.

"We're going to lock up if we don't get moving again," he said, softly.

"Yeah," she said.

Slowly they started to trot. They maintained a jog for a quarter mile and then eased into a real run.

A mile later Claire said, "Thank you."